Dom In Denial
by Veronica Catherine Richards
Summary: Borrowing characters from Scribe here...Clive the Leather Hairdresser has a REALLY bad day. Week. Month. Hell with it, I'm just torturing him.


First off: Scribe, Clive, and Attitudes all belong to Scribe. She is a goddess. This is MY interpretation of Clive, and not meant to be definitive. Thank you and have a nice day.  
  
Veronica cast a critical eye at the small storefront tucked in between a deli and what appeared to be a furniture store. "This is it?"  
  
"This is Attitudes," her aunt said. "Best place to get your hair done."  
  
Veronica shot a disbelieving look her way. "You dragged me across five dimensions and sixteen alternate universes just to get my bangs trimmed? What are you, nuts?"  
  
Aunt Scribe smiled wickedly. "It's not just the hair. It's Clive."  
  
"Ah, yes," Veronica remembered. "Clive. The perv you were raving about when you came home from that convention."  
  
"He is not a perv!" Scribe snapped. "Clive is the sweetest, kindest man you will ever meet. He just happens to be a dom."  
  
Veronica ran her hand through her annoyingly bushy hair. "Uh-huh. And you want your sixteen-year-old virgin niece to get a haircut from this leather- clad freak."  
  
Scribe sighed. "Look, when you see him, you'll know why I was raving about him."  
  
"I'm sure." Veronica wrapped her fake fur coat around herself. "Um, why don't I just go next door and get a Reuben sandwich while you catch up with your boyfriend. I didn't have breakfast anyway. Do you want some coleslaw?"  
  
Scribe rolled her eyes. "Just meet him, okay?"  
  
Veronica took a deep breath and marched into the shop.  
  
********************************************************  
  
"And this is my niece," Scribe said. "It's her sixteenth birthday, and this is sort of a present." She waited expectantly.  
  
Clive grabbed a handful of Veronica's hair. "God, she has hair like yours."  
  
Veronica twisted her head away from Clive. "You are pulling my hair."  
  
"Sorry." Clive let the strands drop. "You don't use any mousse on your hair, do you?"  
  
"I use whatever it takes to make my hair obey me," Veronica said. "And even then it doesn't usually work."  
  
Clive raised an eyebrow. "This ought to be fun."  
  
********************************************************  
  
Scribe pressed her ear against the wall.  
  
"We need to have a little talk first."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Rule One: If I cut your hair, you come to me first for anything, ANYTHING else you need done later. I own you in that matter."  
  
"Um...right."  
  
"Two: You don't question what I do. I'll listen to suggestions, and act on them if I agree. But always remember that I know what's best for you."  
  
"What are you, a high school principal or something?"  
  
"Please don't be difficult."  
  
"Sorry. Go ahead."  
  
"Three: I'm going to be sexual with you. You smell like a virgin, so nothing that would endanger that. But I WILL get my rocks off."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Oh, and you're going to be tied down."  
  
A pause.  
  
"You are cutting off my circulation."  
  
"Is that better?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hmm. You need a safeword."  
  
"I thought that was only if you were having serious sex."  
  
"Yes, but you seem skittish. I don't want to freak you out."  
  
"Okay. Um...calculus."  
  
"That's pretty original."  
  
"I'm flunking it. Okay, so start."  
  
A pause.  
  
"CALCULUS! CALCULUS!"  
  
"I haven't even touched you yet!"  
  
"You are not seriously going to use that brush."  
  
"You're tied down in a BDSM dungeon with a dom and you're scared of a hairbrush?"  
  
"It's a cylinder brush. The last time I used one of those, I got a huge bald patch over my ear."  
  
"Well, we don't want that."  
  
"We don't indeed."  
  
A pause.  
  
"When was the last time you washed your hair?"  
  
"Yesterday morning."  
  
"What have you been doing since then?"  
  
"I was in school. Why?"  
  
"You have pieces of looseleaf paper in your hair."  
  
"Oh, yeah. There are some really annoying guys in math class."  
  
"And a piece of orange rubber."  
  
"Gym class. I annihilated a basketball."  
  
"And what appears to be a French fry."  
  
"Food fight in the cafeteria."  
  
"Slivers of wood with yellow paint?"  
  
"I stuck a broken pencil in my hair."  
  
"Why did you do that?"  
  
"I needed an extra pencil for a test, and you're only allowed one on your desk."  
  
A pause. Nothing happened for a while. Scribe took Veronica's advice and wandered over to the deli.  
  
She got a bagel and cream cheese, had some coffee, and came back.  
  
The door clicked open, and Veronica slipped out. Her hair looked about the same. She was smiling smugly.  
  
"Can we go home?" she asked. "This has been nice and all, but I have to study. I've got a Spanish test tomorrow."  
  
Scribe blinked. "That's it? You don't even look like your hair's been cut."  
  
Veronica shrugged. "Yeah. I really like this dimension. I think I'm going to come back here," she added.  
  
Clive staggered out.  
  
Scribe stared.  
  
Patches of his hair had been cut off. There were blue streaks on the parts that hadn't been cut off. His eyes were glazed over and there was snot running out of his nose.  
  
Veronica swept out the door.  
  
Scribe followed her. "What did you do to him?" she demanded.  
  
"Nothing. Can we stop at the deli really quick? I also missed lunch." 


End file.
